


Touch

by weakzen



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Intimacy, Kissing, Nightmares, Scars, Slow Romance, Teasing, Touching, Trauma, Trust, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24767770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakzen/pseuds/weakzen
Summary: After another nightmare about Murphy, Mason surprises the Detective with a visit—and a few unexpected things more.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 181





	Touch

The blood comes closer.

It races forward, whipping around each coil before surging down the straightaways in a rush of crimson. It takes its time somehow too, winding in long, lazy loops, meandering through the tangled labyrinth of tubing so slowly that a fleeting bit of hope tries to spark in my chest.

But I know better. The blood never stops.

It always comes closer.

_Isn't it thrilling, Detective?_

Closer and closer.

_We'll be inseparable after this!_

His words jolt me into a sudden frenzy and I thrash against the bindings and the solid weight of his hand pinning my hip to the table. A ragged, primal scream tears from my throat as I jerk and twist until the straps slice into my flesh. I snap forward to bite the needle lodged in my arm, to rip it free with my teeth, but his hand clamps around my neck and slams my head against the table. White light and pain explode into my vision, and his fingers tighten ever-so-slightly in a warning I don't heed.

But it doesn't matter.

No matter how much I struggle, his blood comes closer. Closer and closer.

And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Fear spikes through me as I continue resisting in a body that begins to feel more and more distant. All I can hear is the loud echo of his heavy, excited panting. All I can smell is his sweat mixed with a sickening metallic tang. And all I can feel is the clammy hand pinched around my thigh, his fingers squeezing with anticipation and—

_There will always be a part of me inside of you._

I twist awake from the nightmare with a heaving gasp.

Bile surges hot into my throat and I swallow hard against it. My heart thunders in my chest, pounding something wild and desperate into my skull, into my ears. For a terrifying moment, I can't sense anything except the deafening throb of blood.

But…

Slowly, gradually, it recedes to the sound of rain.

And I finally choke down a long, shuddering breath.

I'm not sure how long I lie there afterward, sucking in air, my body buzzing unpleasantly while I stare at the ceiling, but eventually I become aware of just how warm I am and kick myself free of my joggers and the sheets. A shiver ripples up my spine as my bare legs are exposed, and I absently blow at a few damp strands of hair plastered to my cheek. After another long moment, I sigh and roll over to put my feet on the floor, burying my face in my hands while I wait, once again, for the trembling to die down.

Never thought I'd miss the semester when my roommate's alarm clock blasted me awake every morning while she power-slept through it, but… here I am. Getting more misty-eyed and sentimental by the second.

Ah, the halcyon days when the mystery of who left the dishes in the sink was the biggest concern in my life.

Snorting softly, I crack my neck a few times before I push off the bed and shuffle into the bathroom. I don't bother with the light. Or the mirror. I already know I look like shit. Instead, I hunch over the sink to alternate between drinking from the tap so greedily I start coughing and drowning my face in the cold water. I bury it in a towel afterward too, for good measure, pressing myself so deeply into the cotton that it's actually a little difficult to breathe.

I don't know why I do it. Or why I stay there as long as I do.

Silent. Stiff.

Suffocating.

But I don't pull away.

Not until I hear the faint squeaking of cloth and realize my fingers have twisted themselves into fists and I'm clutching the towel so hard that my hands are shaking. As I stare down at it, something else twists inside me too. Some fierce and overwhelming urge that demands I keep going. That I tear it in half. Rip it up. Shred it apart entirely.

My jaw clenches under the force of it, until my teeth start to squeak too.

Then—for some absurd fucking reason—I picture Nate kneeling over the destroyed towel, a sad little frown on his face as he bemoans the thread count.

And a laugh sputters out of me instead.

It's long and wheezing and only slightly hysterical, but I can't help it. The image is just so— ridiculous and bewildering and, honestly, pretty fucking funny.

As my body shakes with laughter, I drop the towel into the sink and curl forward to put my face in my hands. Tears bead at the corners of my eyes and my stomach starts to hurt from the effort. Tightness cinches around my chest too, and claws up to lodge in my throat. Heat prickles and swells across my face, and my lip trembles and my eyes begin to sting and I suddenly know exactly what's fucking coming.

So I brace against it.

_It doesn't matter._

And I hold it back.

_It doesn't. It really doesn't._

Until it gradually passes.

_It's over and done._

I take a deep, shuddering, and practiced breath afterwards, sniffling just enough to clear it away before I flick the unshed moisture from my eyes.

Then, without another thought, I whip the towel around the rack unharmed and walk back into my room.

I move towards the bed, but I pause as I pass into the cool air flowing in through the window. My arms fold instinctively against it, even though the chill brushes pleasantly across my uncomfortably hot face. I glance over at the damp and tangled mess of sheets awaiting me and frown. I frown harder knowing, as usual, I'll probably only end up twisting around in them until it's too bright to pretend I have a chance of falling back asleep.

And, with that decidedly unappealing thought in mind, I turn to face the rain instead.

The tang of cold moisture and pine drifts inside, and I inhale it eagerly. I always did enjoy late summer in Wayhaven, when the storms roll back in to chase away the heat. The towering dark clouds, the breeze snapping every banner, awning, and flagpole in the Square, the promise of wet earth on the wind and the heavy stillness right before the downpour rips free—it's hard not to get excited in the presence of something so magnificently powerful.

Lightning flickers across the sky as if in agreement, and thunder follows it a few moments later in the distance, a long and low rumble that rattles the glass in the windowpane.

I smile softly, shifting a hand to stroke my neck while the breeze soothes my flushed skin.

Yesterday afternoon seems so distant now, though. I remember that excitement when I left the station, the stupid little grin on my face when it started pouring and Tina's shrieks as she ran back into the doorway to shout goodbye. I remember driving up here too, with my window rolled down, nothing but total contentment in my heart as the rain streaked over the windshield and across my knuckles. And I remember walking into the Warehouse, jacket dripping, and that dull ache of happiness that rolled through me as familiar voices called out in greeting and my eyes fell on the steaming mug waiting by the spot where I usually sit.

I remember it, but… right here, now, alone in the dark once more, it's hard to believe any of it actually happened to me.

It's hard to believe I ever really felt that way at all. It almost seems… borrowed. Like all of its brightness belongs to someone else entirely.

And _this_ shit, right now, is what I truly am—and all I'll ever know.

A familiar tightness claws up my throat again. My eyes start to sting.

"Scared of the storm, sweetheart?"

I startle immediately and startle _hard_.

My attention snaps to the doorway, only to recognize a dark and familiar figure leaning against the frame.

Fuck—I hadn't even heard him open the door! Or knock, I want to add, before I remember it's _Mason_ and doors are one of the few things he actually won't do.

Shit.

I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back and shoot him a smirk that I don't really feel.

"Petrified.”

Mason smirks in return. "Then maybe I should come in and make you feel safe. Hold you very close to me until it passes."

I can't help the soft chuckle that escapes my lips as I glance away. My arms folds a bit tighter around myself and I shift slightly on the spot. “Not sure I'm in the mood for _that_ kind of comfort right now.”

“Lucky for you, that's not the only kind I can offer.”

My brow arcs in question—and curiosity. I'm not sure how much I believe him, but… I am always interested to see what he'll try.

Without looking away from the window, I give him a small nod of invitation to come in.

The door clicks shut, and heat soon radiates across my bare skin through the loose, open-backed shirt I wore to bed. Mason's hands slide over my hips from behind, his fingers splaying briefly, giving just the slightest squeeze, before he wraps his arms around me and settles them into a fold beneath my own. He rests his chin on top of my head too—something new he's started doing lately, though I suppose I am at perfect chin-resting height—and he gently pulls me back against him.

A sigh escapes me as he does, louder than I would've intended. And maybe he wasn't entirely bullshitting about that comfort.

Because I can't deny just how damn good it feels to be held by him, even now.

My eyes flutter shut as I sink further into his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Smoke and sandalwood envelop me, as does another scent underlying both, something dark and pleasantly rich and unmistakably _him_. Something familiar too, achingly so, that makes my breath hitch over the sudden and unexpected swell of fondness spreading across my chest.

My shoulders sag, my head tilts back, and the tension knotted around my throat loosens. His chest rises and falls against my own breathing, sometimes aligning so we press together fully on an inhale, and I slowly realize I don't think I've ever felt this relaxed in anyone's arms before.

That is, until I also realize he definitely felt every part of my reaction—right down to the slightest bit of movement—and I inwardly cringe.

Thankfully, at least, he doesn't care enough to comment about any of it. I cringe a little further, hoping that small mercy extends to anything he witnessed while he stood in the doorway.

Or noticed before he opened the door.

My back stiffens again as I try not to think about just how far he can hear across the Warehouse… I bite my lip to suppress a groan.

“How long were you standing there anyway?"

"Long enough."

A weak chuckle escapes me. “Well, that's not embarrassing…”

“'Cause there's nothing to be embarrassed about,” he states, his words delivered so casually and matter-of-fact that there's no room to doubt his belief in them. “Especially not with the view you provide,” he adds, his voice dipping into a low rumble.

I chuckle again despite my unease—and my surprise. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Glad to know I add a little brightness to your morning too, sunshine.”

His scoff ruffles my hair and I swear I can almost feel his eyeroll. My smile widens.

I lean against him even further, and his arms tighten around me in response. Comfortable silence blankets us, as it often does, and I try to relax into it, into him, closing my eyes once more as my fingers trace idle paths over my neck. The gentle downpour continues outside, steady in its intensity with soft, irregular tings and the occasional roll of thunder.

“Guess the rain ruined your rooftop solitude this morning,” I murmur absently.

"I wouldn't call it ruined."

I hum in acknowledgment and my attention slowly returns to the storm. The rain falls lighter now than it did earlier, when I made the decision—because of Nate's unusually strong encouragement, even for him—to spend the night at the Warehouse rather than drive back into town. Something about my car having 'questionable traction, even under ideal circumstances' and 'certainly a lot of spirit, if not much else,' to which I countered that he and everyone else needed to start having some faith in the most reliable, tenacious, and clearly valuable member of our team.

I mean, a muddy road is nothing. That car has already survived the jerks, stops, and stalled clutches of a teenager with a learner's permit, four years of designated driving for sloppy, belligerent classmates, overnight parking on some of Vancouver's shittiest streets, a hockey riot, Tina spilling a full milkshake across the dash, Adam crashing into it from multiple angles, Mason doing his damnedest to destroy the suspension from the backseat, aggressive karaoke in the front seat with Felix, a standoff with a fucking moose, and that's not even half of what I can remember.

And even after all of that, it continues to rumble along, coasting like it has a full tank when the fuel gauge dips into the red, rattling change loose from its crevices whenever I want a coffee, providing occasional shelter to the neighborhood family of raccoons.

I just think it deserves a little more respect is all. But I know they'll all come around eventually.

Even if I have to make them.

I grin—though it falters somewhat as my fingertips brush over the scar on my neck.

It… feels worse than it looks, in more than one way. Which is a fucking shame, if not completely fitting, because of course that asshole didn't even have the decency to leave me with a badass scar. All this one does is pull uncomfortably if I turn my head too far, but… it doesn't bother me anymore, not really.

My fingers stop directly above the pulse throbbing beneath those gnarled ridges and dips.

It doesn't matter.

Frowning, I continue to stroke my neck, more intently than I had before. And maybe that's why, or maybe it's the nightmare still wrapped fresh around my mind, or the fact it rained _that_ night too, but the memory of Murphy's bite suddenly slams into me as hard as his mouth did.

He chewed a little.

When I fumbled for my throat, my fingers slid across torn flesh into muscle. The blood burned my hand as it poured out. Slick. Hot. A stream of wet fire rushing over my fingers and down my arm to drip from my elbow, down the middle of my chest, my stomach, sinking heat into my underwear and the cold, sweat-soaked gown plastered to my skin.

It burned sickeningly hot, but not as much as Murphy's tongue did, when he dragged it up the length of my neck and pushed it into me.

I startle hard when my hand is suddenly snatched from my neck.

“You always this tense when it rains?”

“I'm not tense,” I say unthinkingly, then cringe at my obvious lie.

Mason scoffs and smirks so hard I can feel it through my skull.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “I'm just, uh… stiff with appreciation.”

His smirk widens. “What a coincidence—”

“—So am I,” I say at the same time as him, then roll my eyes. He laughs, his body shaking against my own, and I can't help but smile too. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a few lingering kisses to the spot I was just touching. He squeezes me tighter for a moment, then folds our arms back around me, his hand tucked over my own.

I take a deep breath and try to relax once more.

“…I actually really like storms,” I say a moment later, in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering again.

“So do I.” Silence briefly falls over us again, until he adds, “The air always smells cleaner when it rains. Sharper, in a good way. And there's so much noise all at once, it all kind of… blends together and almost fades away. Makes everything else fade away too.”

My eyes fall shut again as I enjoy the rumble of his words against my back. “Makes everybody flee inside as well.”

He snorts. “That's always a nice bonus for anything.”

I hum in response. Then he surprises me by speaking further.

“…I don't like being out in it much either.”

“Because it's cold?”

“Freezing, yeah. But more because it stings.” His fingers twitch slightly against the top of mine. “Feels like being stabbed over and over again by millions of tiny needles.”

I hesitate for a moment, briefly pressing my lips together, then I slide my fingers upwards to lace partway through his. Mason stills behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know he's pinning me with a gaze.

Then his fingers curl between mine in response.

A pleasant ache twists in my chest, and I give a small nod toward the window. “…Does it feel that way even in something gentle, like this?”

“If I stand out in it long enough, yeah.”

I huff softly. “Guess showering can't be much fun for you then.”

He chuckles deeply, squeezing me in a decidedly more suggestive manner as he presses his hips forward. “You're always welcome to join me and make it better.”

I open my mouth to reply, but quickly forget what I meant to say as I actually think about his proposal. More specifically, as I think about sliding against his wet and soapy skin. And his hands gliding across mine. And, of course, the fact that he's more than strong enough to hold me up against the wall…

My breath hitches as I bite my lower lip—and Mason descends, grinning, to hook his chin on my shoulder.

“You want me to tuck you in, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear and sending a pleasant shiver down my body.

“Why do I get the feeling the way you'd tuck me in is identical to the way you toss me down for a fuck?”

He chuckles. “Because they are the same. You just aren't naked right now.”

“That's it?” I turn to face him, my brow raised and a growing smirk on my lips. “Not even gonna offer me a little tenderness and care?”

“Nope,” he replies simply—then scoops me up over his shoulder like he's done so many times in the past.

For a moment, my mind jumps back to when he first carried me like this, over that tree so long ago, but the thought disappears when he unceremoniously dumps me onto the mattress.

I huff and roll over into a somewhat more dignified position. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me when I'm done.” Amusement and desire play across his darkened features.

“Yeah? What else do you need to do?”

“You, obviously.”

I laugh, but the thought _is_ rather tempting right now. Far more so than when he first showed up…

“May I join you?” he asks, his voice dipping into a husky rumble. There's a sharp gleam in his eyes and a hungry grin on his lips.

An answering one pulls at my own lips. “You know the rule.”

His grin widens. “It's the only one I actually like,” he growls before practically tearing his shirt off.

No street clothes in my bed, I told him once, the first time he tried to flop onto my duvet in jeans. Only house clothes and underwear are allowed—or nudity.

And he wastes no time getting to that state.

I scoot over to make room for him, though he still manages to sprawl out practically on top of me as he flops into the bed. He stretches out with exaggerated laziness before folding his arms behind his head and fixing me with a smirk. It's obvious he's temping me to look at him.

And, of course, I do.

The dim light coming in through the window softens the muscled planes of his body. I let my gaze roam over the long and familiar lines of his form, biting my lip as I take in the contours of his bare shoulders and chest, the ridges of his abs, and the trail of dark hair leading down his stomach to the very apparent arousal on full display.

“Look as much as you want, sweetheart,” he purrs, letting his thigh fall atop my own as he spreads his legs even wider.

Chuckling softly, I let my eyes linger there for a moment before I glance back to his face, where it's clearly evident he's been enjoying the attention. I roll onto my side just as lazily and prop my head up on one arm. Then I reach over to skim my other hand down his torso, keeping my palm flat and close enough to his skin to feel his warmth, but not close enough to actually touch him.

He watches my movement intently, breathing in through his teeth as my hand moves lower and lower. When I reach his cock, I curl my hand around the base as though I'm about to grasp him, my fingers circling closer and closer as I move my hand up his length—but right as I'm about to make contact, I keep moving, closing my hand into a fist after it passes by the tip entirely.

His hips roll forward to follow, and I grin as he lets out a frustrated growl.

“But don't touch?” I ask, giving him a wink.

Mason scoffs, but the broad smile on his face says the teasing pleased him more than anything else. He licks his upper lip and scoots closer to me, until we're pressed together, his side against my front, and his face close to mine on the pillow below.

“You can touch as much as you want,” he replies, gazing up at me through half-lidded eyes and long dark lashes. He begins to slowly rub his leg against mine. “And I know you want to.”

His words rumble over me, low, invitingly, and very accurately. I inhale slightly as he nudges his knee against my legs, asking me to part them—then more sharply as I oblige and he slides his thigh between my own, although not quite as high up as I would like.

Heat spools low in my belly as I rock my hips forward slightly, leaning into his warmth. My gaze travels up our bodies. Our bare legs tangled together. The sliver of my stomach brushing against his skin where my shirt is pulled up. The rise and fall of his chest, just waiting for me to reach over and touch him for real this time.

But a question surfaces in my mind before I do. A concern.

Something I've wondered about for a long while now, but has been in my thoughts with more frequency lately.

Because he's been touching me more lately, outside of the bedroom.

A lot.

Pressing his shoulder against mine when we stand by each other for a group meeting. Splaying his hand across my back while we lean over to examine something. Reaching over to brush strands of hair from my face after I blow them away in annoyance.

And a multitude of other tiny ways to try and fluster me because words alone rarely cut it anymore.

I've played back with my own teasing touches, of course, but…

It's a lot of effort on his part just to get a reaction out of me. A lot of painful effort too, for someone so hypersensitive that even a gentle rainfall against his skin could cause agony.

Much less what it must feel like for him when he's exposed like _this_ and touched so directly.

So intimately.

I glance back up to catch his gaze, only to find him already watching me with those pretty grey eyes.

“…Doesn't it hurt you, though?” I ask quietly, before I can stop myself. “Being touched when your senses are so heightened?”

All trace of amusement and desire drops from his face instantly. He frowns and looks away.

I glance away as well, regret lurching in my stomach to an almost sickening degree. My fingers curl around the hem of my shirt and begin twisting the fabric.

Of course I had to fucking ask. Of course.

I know this… _arrangement_ between Mason and myself is superficial and meaningless, even if the more stupidly curious part of me sometimes forgets. I've always appreciated his honesty about that, how upfront he's been from the very start about not wanting to know me or share himself. After how hard Bobby almost fucked me over… it's a relief to be around someone so direct about his intent.

Someone who isn't going to pretend to care about me in order to get what he actually wants.

Mason would never do that. He's a good guy. We have a good thing. And I don't want to fuck things up between us just because I'm terminally fucking nosy.

I shouldn't have pried. And definitely not about something like that.

I take a low, steadying breath and ready an apology on my lips, but his voice cuts through the silence first.

“Yes.”

My eyes snap to his face, only to find him already staring at me again. There's a strange, piercing intensity in those grey depths now, something I've never seen there before.

“It does, most of the time,” he continues, holding my gaze, his brow furrowing and his jaw tightening slightly as he pauses for a moment. “…But not with you.”

My breath snags over his words and suddenly it's my turn to look away and frown.

I want to dismiss it as just… more innuendo. An obvious invitation to slip out of my shirt and roll on top of him. And I'm sure he meant it like that, and I'm sure he wants that too, I know, but…

There's an edge to his tone. A heaviness to his words.

Like the calm and undeniable weight of a storm before it breaks.

My stomach does an uneasy flip, and I don't know if it's because I'm scared of whatever it means—or because I'm excited.

I really don't know what to say in response, either.

…So I don't say anything.

I just…

Thunder rumbles somewhere far away from us as I reach over and brush my fingers across Mason's stomach.

His eyes shut and he inhales sharply through his teeth as I slowly flatten my hand and begin caressing him there. His abs dip and roll with my movement, and his hips join the motion when I start to tease my fingers further down. I stay there, just long enough to give him some hope, my fingers inching closer and ever closer, until I abruptly change direction to the sound of another frustrated groan.

Chuckling quietly, I keep my touch soft as I follow the path of dark hair up his torso. My fingers ruffle it lightly along the way, briefly detouring out across his freckled skin to graze his nipples. He moans quietly in response, and chills prickle across his flesh. His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, and I continue upward, passing the cords of leather looped around his neck, the shard of quartz catching the faint light, until my fingers glide into the hollow at the base of his throat.

Slowly, I draw a single finger up the long column of his neck. His head falls back to allow it, his chin rising in the air, his body arching too, as my fingertip drags up through his heavy stubble and briefly catches on the edge of his jaw before it flicks free. His tongue darts across his lips, but I don't give him time to recover before my hand immediately veers in to cup his cheek, gliding slowly again until he's nestled fully in my palm. I roll my thumb across his soft, slickened lips as his hand slides up my side.

Desire churns in his eyes as he stares into mine. Desire and that same strange intensity.

My breath snags again and I bite my own lip, dragging my thumb to the edge of his, until it catches and flicks free.

Then I kiss him.

I keep it as soft as my touch, even as his lips press eagerly against mine, even as it deepens until we moan into each other. Our tongues slide together, hot and wet, and I lean into him, pulling my hand away from my head to find the arm he still has folded behind his. Our fingers immediately lace together when our hands meet, and he curls his other arm around my back to pull me against him. Our kiss becomes more urgent as we move together, his thigh sliding further up between mine as a familiar heat begins to build and throb between my legs.

We're forced to break for air eventually, our foreheads pressing together as we pant against each other. I swipe my thumb across his cheek and give him a brief kiss.

Mason breathes out a moan and kisses me back. “It always feels good when you're touching me,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick and hoarse.

A smirk twitches at the corner of my mouth, and I move as though I'm about to start kissing him in earnest again—but instead I only graze my lips against his before I pull away. He follows again, and then breathes out a chuckle against my mouth as he reaches down to smack my ass.

A sharp laugh bursts from me and I offer him a sly smile. “Even when I'm teasing you?”

“Especially when you're teasing me,” he replies, a smile of his own gleaming in his eyes.

He kisses me briefly, then moves his mouth to my neck, where he presses wet kisses against my skin before grazing his teeth over that spot he knows I like. Chills of pleasure ripple across my body, and I inhale sharply as his thigh starts to glide higher between mine, closer and tantalizingly closer to the ache between my legs. I roll my hips forward to meet him—but just as we're about to make contact, just as I can feel the heat and the barest brush of him through my underwear, he pulls away entirely.

And suddenly it's my turn to groan.

“Makes it all the sweeter when I get to pay you back for it,” he whispers against my ear, grinning.

I smile too, even as I huff a little in response and roll my eyes. Then I reach down to grab his cock, teasing my fingers along his length.

“Guess this means I'll just have to put my hands on you even more often.”

“As much as you want, sweetheart,” he groans, his eyes shuttering closed as he grabs my ass and squeezes. “As often as you want.”

We kiss again, and his hand moves up to cup my breast, his thumb briefly circling my nipple through the fabric before he slides his touch to my stomach, to the bare flesh exposed at the bottom of my shirt. He strokes my skin there, breaking away from our kiss to look into my eyes as he nudges the fabric up with his thumb.

“And I'm more than willing to do the same for you,” he states simply, staring at me with such a heavy intensity that it feels like I might actually fall into his gaze.

His words are innuendo. A silent ask for permission. A promise of pleasure.

And something more.

Again, my breath hitches and my stomach does a tiny flip. Again, I'm not sure what to say in response.

…But, whatever he's offering, I think I want to find out.

I think maybe I want it too.

So I kiss him again while he slides his hand under my shirt.

His thigh surges up fully against me, dragging sweet pressure against the heat between my legs. I moan into him, tightening, squeezing his leg between mine as I grind against him. We move together like that, hands still clasped tightly, while he kneads my breast and I stroke him the best I can from what our position allows.

But it's not enough—and soon we're forced to briefly disentangle so we can reach each other better.

He rolls onto his side to face me, and I hook my leg over him, giving him ample access to cup me through my underwear. His fingers stroke and tease me through the damp fabric before he slips his hand inside to touch me more directly. I gasp as he does, and he grins, giving me a low growl of appreciation when he feels the full extent of how wet I already am.

He strokes his fingers along the slickened length of me before drawing upward to circle my clit. I bite my lip and hiss as hot pleasure arcs through me, but I can't contain the moan that soon breaks free, or the way my hips start to rock against his touch. I capture his lips in another kiss as I drown in the sensation, and I do my best to concentrate on him as well.

My hand glides along the hot and solid length of his cock, rolling his foreskin along his shaft as my thumb swipes over the sticky wetness at his tip. He groans against my lips and thrusts into my grasp. Then he slides his fingers into me, not giving me any time to recover before he withdraws and plunges back in, drawing his strokes in long lengths that hit my clit with each pass and tear sharp, guttural cries from my throat.

Pleasure coils inside me as our foreheads press together. We exchange moans and gasping breaths, the only noise in the room aside from the rain and the slick sound of his fingers fucking into my cunt.

But even that stops too soon, as Mason withdraws from me with a departing flick that makes me twitch and groan.

He slides his fingers into his mouth as he holds my gaze, sucking on them for a moment before pulling them out with a deliberate pop.

Then he wraps his hand around the crotch of my underwear and yanks them down my thighs.

I barely have time to kick myself free of them before he rolls me into his lap between his legs. My shirt soon follows, as he sits up to tear it off me and toss it somewhere into the darkness. I shift my legs to curl around behind him and he's already kissing me again, pulling me against him. I taste myself on his tongue as it rolls against mine, as we roll against each other, his hands clutching my hips and my fingers curling into his hair and the sweet, aching grind of his shaft rubbing against my cunt between us.

But it's not enough.

I lift my hips up and his hand is already wrapped around the base of his cock, steadying it for me. Holding his gaze, I slide myself against the tip a few times, watching the anticipation build in his expression.

Then I sink down onto him.

We both groan loudly. And he groans even louder as I wiggle my hips back and forth to get as much of him inside of me as possible.

Grinning briefly, I wrap my arms around him as we begin to move again.

Mason swipes my hair away from my neck and buries his face there, kissing greedily while his hands curl around my ass and squeeze. Heat begins to build between us, slowly and deeply, as we rock together. Sweat prickles across our skin where we touch, a few beads trickling down between the press and roll of our stomachs. I push my face into the soft curtain of his hair and breathe, inhaling his scent, until his teeth graze that spot on my neck and tear a gasp from my throat.

My head falls back and my hand follows.

I fumble behind myself to brace my weight on my arm, leaning away from him slightly until I find that sweet angle where pleasure surges and drags in a loop with every thrust. My eyes fall shut, breathy moans escaping me as I drive myself against him and begin rubbing my clit with slickened fingers. He curls his hands around my hips in encouragement, snarling his own urgent groans while he rolls his hips in time with mine.

My hair sways against my back, and I lose myself in a haze of sensation, in our moans, in how good he feels, how much he fills me, the heat of him between my legs, the aching throb, the spiraling build of pleasure against every right spot—

A breathy, desperate, _needy_ growl cuts through all of it, something I've never heard before.

Something I briefly mistake for my own.

“Oh, _fuck_ , sweetheart.”

My eyes snap open to see Mason staring at me intently with dark eyes, dark waves of hair framing his face.

And his fangs fully bared.

My heart catches for a moment—and his eyes widen a little in surprise.

Then all I feel is an electric and overwhelming thrill surge through my entire body.

His eyes widen even further.

Even so, our rhythm barely stutters. I fall into it again, my eyes shutting as my head falls back too.

Another growl escapes him, softer this time, but still just as breathlessly needy. Then his hands slide up my back as he pulls me closer.

“C'mere.”

Mason's arm cradles my lower back as he holds me tightly against him. His hand curls behind my neck and my breasts crush against his chest hair as we move. He shifts us and his hips slightly, until everything aligns once more to hit all the right spots. I sigh deeply as he does, moaning and clutching him hard while we rock back and forth towards the edge.

His movements become more intense and directed to guide us there. His fingers tangle in my hair and he buries his face into my neck, kissing along my throat as our breathing become more urgent. I tilt my head and angle myself into his lips and his tongue and his growling moans.

And into the tips of his fangs that graze across my skin and jolt me straight over—

A familiar tension coils in my throat and belly.

“Fuck, Mason—”

And bursts into pleasure.

I cry out and arch into it, into him, clenching tightly as it pulses through me in waves. With a few harder thrusts, he shudders against me quickly after, his own orgasm taking him with a loud groan. He presses his face into my neck and breathes heavily, so much that I almost miss the quiet and ragged whisper that escapes his lips.

“Alex…”

I don't know why, but… even in the haze of climax, something about the way he says my name catches in my throat and makes my chest ache.

My brow furrows and I hug him tighter, pressing my own kisses into his neck.

We stay wrapped in the afterglow for a long moment, our heartbeats thundering together, both of us unmoving except for the rise and fall of our chests and the late twitches of pleasure. A pleasant buzz fills my body, making my limbs tremble slightly. I relax into it, my eyes slowly falling shut, until he shifts to press his forehead against mine.

He stares at me for a long moment, a lazy smile gracing his lips and nothing but contentment in those beautiful grey eyes.

Then he smirks.

“If I knew you'd like the fangs so much, sweetheart, I would've brought them out a lot sooner.”

Heat immediately flushes across my cheeks. His smirk widens, revealing the smallest hint of pointed canines.

Despite my blush, I roll my eyes and try to scoff, but a smile tugs at my lips and a laugh comes out instead. He grins too, but his eyes soon flutter shut, and it's only when a breathy little groan escapes him as well do I remember that he's actually still inside of me.

So, of course, I clench around his cock slightly for effect.

He inhales sharply, but it quickly drags into a chuckle and a broad smile. His eyes shine brightly as he moves in to bite my neck, growling as he teases his teeth against my skin. Chills prickle across my flesh and a pleasant shiver ripples down my spine. I laugh again, then hook my chin over his shoulder, smiling as I nestle against him.

My eyes fall shut, and a quiet swell of happiness rolls through me as I savor the moment. The rain falling outside, the cool night air brushing over us, the feel of him clutching me tighter as he sighs and presses a long kiss to my neck.

I sigh too, heavy with comfort and contentment, reluctant to move. Even to brush away the strand of hair tickling the side of my face from the breeze.

I absently blow at it, knowing it won't do much.

Mason reaches up to tuck it behind my ear.


End file.
